


though ii 2ang iin my chaiin2 liike the 2ea

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Horror, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Dismemberment, Gore, Horror, Insanity, Multi, Not Safe Sane and Consensual, Possession, Psychological Horror, Sexual Assault, Triggers, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:18:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>hello, 2tarfii2h.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	though ii 2ang iin my chaiin2 liike the 2ea

it

it went wrong w

it all started to go wrong when fe

when feferi

when SHE WHO WAS HATCHED OF THE SCREAM IN THE RAW SINEWS OF THE UNIVERSE, HEIRESS OF HOWLS EMPRESS OF DEATH

when feferi made hi

when she said sollux, sollux we can

we can be to

we can be together forever -

* * *

(aint that unusual what the spiderbitch did to tav not at all just a sliver sickening to a greenhorn adolescent

**like you've never seen blood before, you shitty little cannon fo**

never seen a troll broke down in pieces twitching the last scream of a life flickering out, never seen a fellow's insides become his outsides in one beautiful wet moment of entropy accelerated never seen guts fall like ripe fruit to the scorched field of war never

what do yo

what do you mean _**never**_ you motherfucker aint you ever been to church?)

* * *

if we are to

if we are to be inspired and take as beautiful, the merciless beauty of our Race, if we are to

to look up the spectrum

and see what might constitute an appropriate expression of

love, if we filthblooded billions are meant to

learn from our betters

they say imitation is the sincerest form of f

* * *

something went

someth

something went very, very wr

* * *

sollux?

* * *

a trident burned into his wrist.

something wrong.

wro

* * *

(too late.  shot her too late.  she'd already done it. idiot.)

* * *

head hurts head HURTS

not like before, not like anythi

head hu

* * *

  
Actually, it was all perfectly acceptable.  Fine, even.  It was all fine.

And really, there was a certain sense of balance.

Was there not?

When you considered the number of Helmsmen.

Yes, when you thought of it that way -

(stench of terror in adrenaline sweat and damask-violet blood.  sickly sweet.  eyes wider than they'd ever been, right before he had

beautiful.)

When you thought of it that way, Sollux wasn't sorry at all.

* * *

(Like, wow, he just HAD to one-up me?  What a pathetic loser.  Obviously still sore about the dead girlfriend thing - get over it, nerd!

So obnoxious.  Nobody's impressed!  And it's actually kind of disgusting how he thinks he's super original with his I'm-so-goth bullshit.  Uh, news flash: you didn't invent the beat-them-up-until-they're-pitiful gambit.  Oldest trick in the book!  I should know, I wrote it.

... He should've ripped out the voicebox, too.

Like, we all know what's going on, here, it's kind of blatant, you'd have to be blind not to know, I just want a decent fucking day of -

Super predictable, anyway.  Of course he'd go for my sloppy seconds.)

* * *

the starfish is not a star, and not a fish, but it possesses certain regenerative qualities.

(sollux said _**hello 2tarfii2h.**_   right before he)

trolls do not.

(it was a joke.)

not even seadwellers.

(when you

snap off their legs and arms and redblue cauterize the flesh over the stubs - almost like he made him a wriggler again, certainly wasn't producing a dialect that resembled proper Alternian, hahahahahahhahahaha - when you do that, they don't grow back.)

* * *

no

wr

wron

n

Perfectly fine.

* * *

There is a difference between hatred and the urge to murder, Sollux is well aware. 

It's just that Eridan treads the line between both.  So he settled for

wro-

And some sobbing (never stopped these days never shut the fuck up until Gamzee shushed him) romantics might try to convince you that a kismesis is meant to hone you, perfect you, sharpen you up and keep you deadly - how soap-opera nauseating.  Some people don't need improving, and some people have no good qualities to strengthen.  

Sollux

(and the pressure in his brain and the raw things living in the liminal flesh of space sheer grubfucking awe how can you hear screaming how can you hear a blessed thing when something so livid and sticky and incomprehensibly vast is taking you for a joyride emphasis on the joy how could you object but the unity is without flaw without seam no edge no fissure he could ever crack to slip the thrall only why the fuck would he want to why would anyone ever)

is perfect.

And this is all Eridan is good for.

* * *

left the stumps just long enough.

not so long that he could use them opposably, not long enough that he could touch the ends together and hold anything, ever again, unless with his mouth or (other orifices where sollux has already been)

just long enough that, if he wants to

he can make him crawl,

like a beetle, on the ground,

desperately away from the boot

(no legs to shut, and no arms to push him away)

* * *

kar, quit your squallin, its not that bad

im fine

leavve

seriously get the fuck out

i told you its not that bad, im

you havve to get out noww

kar

you havve to get out

for fucks sake

and get me a fuckin computer

* * *

built him a cockpit, biowire tentacles suspending him

attached to nothing, just for fun

the joke is th

it's funny because

you see if he weren't purple, if he were common, if he had

if he could use the controls he's jacked into,

just the smallest bit,

he could flip the killswitch.

just out of reach.

the look on his face is hours of entertainment.

almost as fun as taking hi

(brief, violent craving - if only sollux had a killswitch for the univ

Fine.  Joyride.  Esctasy.)

* * *

and they will be together forever WRONG and evWRONGer anWRONGd eWRONG, WRONG, WRONGver and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and

(he's pulling out one of his teeth ever so slow other hand braced against his horns head pulled back all neck all ruin and his

his thumb slips and he punctures his hand on an incisor an

d

h elp m e

a

nd eridan gets a funny look in his eyes for some reason, so sollux rips it out in one

Beautiful

spray of blood.)

ever and ever and ever and

* * *

if we are to

suffer the folly of existence, suffer the brands and blows of fate,

if we are to continue onwards, out of some mad desire to exist, rather than the elegant and lovely rush into the arms of -

they say nothing is built to last and only the good die young,

alas.

consider this your second lesson in showmanship.

* * *

The incredible thing about the human named Rose Lalonde is that she is an auspistice straight out of Hell.

(and fuckiing beliieve me ii've 2een enough hell the2e pa2t few - Fine Perfect Forever - week2, ii've 2een plenty two know -)

Generally speaking,

(descends upon the catacombs that he's built of ruins and wreckage, through the air from above, like talcum powder wafting through the air of a crypt, riding the natural currents and leaving no trace behind her.  something unnaturally still about her motions, the way a body floats to the surface of a stagnant pond, perhaps - oozing contempt and brittle with a rage unfathomable - so perfectly still that he doesn't even notice her until eridan's eyes go black and at the back of his neck he feels a)

when you are the club for a pair of sharp spades,

(it is not pleasant, not pleasant at all, to have a -

\- ripped out of your mind, root by screaming root -

and a sigil burned off of your flesh, not pleasant at all, but

the pain is the first jolt of clarity he's had since before -)

you should not be pitch for them both.  She has never been much of a rule-follower.

Thank goodness for that.

* * *

When Sollux comes to, the back of his throat tastes like bile and there are bruises on his stomach.  She has her wand at his throat.

He remembers

everything.

The long, curdling howl of his despair ends in a broken nose (his) and a black eye and split lip (hers) and human blood turns out to taste very coppery, and it is very, very red.

Who knew?

* * *

Once Eridan's arms and legs are done, long glossy chrome things that are beautifully articulate and carefully bedecked with the few rings they could salvage, complete with retractable claws - naturally they make a date out of it.

(you have to slice delicately,

peel away the scar tissue,

hold him down,

and uncover the nerves.)

He screams so pretty.

* * *

(She holds Sollux's arms, and lets Eridan punch.  For diagnostic purposes.  Of course.)

* * *

Somehow: (tangled in a heap of limbs and bruises, and heavy misery only just-barely fucked out of their systems, for a brief and hazy while; breathing in their burns and hissing out smoke.)

in the end things went horribly,

(Sure, you'd rather be dead.

But because they hate you, neither of them will let you. Romantic as hell.)

horribly right.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is the last line of the poem Fern Hill, by Dylan Thomas, which has absolutely nothing to do with horrorterrors or dismemberment gorn.
> 
> Dedicated to everking, for whom my stairs are forever reserved ♠

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [though ii 2ang iin my chaiin2 liike the 2ea (The Mercy of His Means Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/721274) by [lionpyh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionpyh/pseuds/lionpyh)




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